Shatter
by Phantom Phoenix Queen
Summary: The fall of Germany leads to the building of the Berlin Wall. And the fall of the Berlin Wall leads to the heartbreak of Prussia.


**Authors Note: yay for my first Hetalia fic! This one was a request about Prussia and Germany becoming seperated by the Berlin Wall. I understand that it's not historically accurate in every detail, so I don't want to hear it. And I apologize if any of the German is wrong. I don't speak that language so I had to use a translator. But otherwise, enjoy and please leave a review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

'There is a wall', he thinks, as people run from their houses.

This concrete and wire monstrosity has not been here before, they know, and they wonder how it was built in one night. They run, screaming and yelling in both outrage and confusion, towards the looming creature. They're brave from their rage, he can tell, and so they run forward as one, encouraged by a man with a too big voice and everything to lose.

Then there is a shot, and someone is dead. Then another.

Another.

Another.

_Another. _

They're not so brave now, and many run back to the safety of steel and wood. Most of them hide behind doors and windows and pretend like they're really not watching their lives fall apart. But their wide eyes and frightened chatter gives them away as they watch the light-brown stains pace back and forth, shouting in German and Russian.

These men are the guards; soldiers dressed in red bands, Soviet colors, that have been ordered to keep the peace and keep it at all costs. Some stand with poorly hidden sympathy while others are rigid. But none have trouble pointing the bayonets and ordering people to step back.

"_Entkommen_- get away."

The people haven't gathered their courage yet, haven't picked up the broken shards of bravery to gather them into something recognizable as fighting back. So he watches them as their faces morph, as they finally accept that this has really happened and nothing can change it now.

He watches as people fall to the ground and cry, and cry, and ask what they did wrong. He sees some who throw themselves on the ground and sob, and the ones that throw their hands to the sky and fall to their knees as they curse a god that has surely failed them now. He hears stones ping off metal and barbed wire, as the people put forth a last attempt effort at breaking down the wall. But they're foolish to think that will do anything, he knows, because what can a hundred dull stones do to a million pounds of enslavement and terror?

Just when he thinks they've given up, that maybe they're slowly accepting their fate, a man cries out and they surge back stronger than ever.

_"Unsere Familien!"_ He yells, "our families! We'll never see them again!"

With that, they flock back towards the wall like birds to crumbs. There are not as many this time, because not everyone in the captive section has family or work on the other side, but their rage is double what it was before. They hurl names and insults at the uncaring, stoic monument. They run, and scream and throw things with renewed, barbaric energy. The soldiers, momentarily startled by the sheer amount of going-on's around them, snap back into reality as the people grow closer and closer. They fire again, but this time it is more warning shots than anything else. Maybe the Red Soldiers are getting some sick, twisted pleasure from watching these desperate people, he thinks, or maybe they are just waiting for the desperation to tire itself out.

It is at this point, as he is watching all these people shudder under the weight of terror, that he realizes he has not moved from his spot on the street since this real life horror movie has begun. He lifts the veil of immobility and walks forward, only to be met with pale hands the color of snow gripping his forearms and a face shoved into his own.

"Why aren't you doing anything? You have a brother over on the western side don't you?" The woman is the living description of panic, and he knows her from somewhere, which might explain why she is now mumbling at him in broken German to help them.

Her words are futile, for he has stopped listening at the mention of his brother. That one word, no matter how simple it may seem, has made him realize something.

They are not the only people who will be missing family. They are not the only ones who will be forced to live in the shadow of the mocking wall. They are not the only ones who will be alone.

So he pushes her away and runs forward, and he fights alongside them with only his brother in mind.

* * *

_'There is no longer a wall', _he thinks, as the people stream from their houses.

They pour through the holes in the concrete that are still steaming with dust and defeat. The soldiers that stood guard for so long are gone now, either running for safety like the cowards they pretend not to be, or watching the scene with disbelief.

This time, he is not standing still and watching the scene play out before him. He is running and rejoicing with the rest, stumbling joyfully towards freedom and happiness that has been, for so long, out of reach.

He shoves through the crowd and steps onto the western ground for the first time in 28 years. He looks around desperately, not letting the smile slide from his face. Just because he cannot see the one he's looking for yet does not mean anything.  
He calls out a name that is lost to the wind and runs faster, looking around every person and every object for a glimpse of the short blonde hair he knows so well. He stumbles past the very last of the citizens converging in this town, and scans the area for the only person that matters here. But just like all the other times there is nothing, and so he berates himself for not looking hard enough.

There is nothing on the second try, either, and by this time he is getting sick of the joyous reunions all around him. When he reaches the same desolate spot again he stops, and bends his arms to his knees as he catches his breath.

For the first time he looks around. There are buildings where there once were fields, houses were there were once was dirt. The country has moved on without him, he knows, and so has his brother.

He cannot allow himself to accept that, though, and so he gathers the last of his energy and propels himself around the small area once more.

But there is no one waiting anywhere for him, so he picks up a chunk of forgotten concrete, throws it away as far and as hard as he can, and falls to his knees.

And he forgets why he's here.


End file.
